Nicole H: Favorites

Feb 2014 Nicole H

~

Feb 2014 Nicole H

CJS

~

synapses firing
sleep, so smooth, is lost

carpet stained, walls talk
voices cleave, claw, claim

a love has been found

infer: ephemeral, impermanent
believe: indelible, predestined

bruised knuckles knock, knock, knock
and one rock, rock, rocks
back and forth

"the moon," he calls her
the moon; he claims her

a world lies between

The sea is deep but he can swim.

Feb 2014 Nicole H

Dreamer

Feb 2014 Nicole H

Ian Cairns

Dreamer

For centuries philosophers have speculated the role sleep plays in society
But it was not until the 1950s that sleep woke up in academia
And today sleep studies show what dormant minds really look like
Information about our rest we've never seen before
However, I've always understood the importance of bedtime
You see my parents taught me that sleep and love are soul mates

My mom
She's the sleeper
She loves to sleep
She cuddles up on any piece of furniture in my house and snoozes for hours
Never views a sitcom past the first commercial break when she's tired
And she's okay with that
Dad never lets her drive on road trips when night falls
Preferring his sleeping beauty tucked safely in the passenger seat
Their hands meet as she lets the stars serenade her to slumber
While he anchors his left hand on the steering wheel
Thanking his lucky stars for his real life princess

My dad
He's the snorer
He loves to snore
He roars like a lion on his love seat and naps for hours
Never views a sitcom past the second commercial break when he's tired
And he's okay with that
Mom never lets him sleep alone too long though
Keeping his nose plugged strong enough to signal for bedtime
They both stand together as he lets her guide him to slumber
While she ushers her left hand around his back
Thanking her lucky stars for her own prince charming

Now my parents call me the dreamer
And I sure do love to dream
It seems my parents are textbook role models for me
Because when you live inside a fairytale for far too long
Your reality becomes an endless stream of fantasies
Your expectations are exceptionally out of context
Strictly written for poetic lines in picture books
Never meant to be held
Never meant to be felt
Only meant for spines stuck on rosewood shelves

My parents call me the dreamer
And boy I love to dream
I believe in creating the unthinkable
And when you live inside a fairytale for far too long
Nothing is fictional
You picture a life with storybook endings
Praying the author never runs out of ink
You crown each syllable the king of the moment
Treating each page like royalty
And I've always been okay with that

So when I asked my mom when she knew she fell in love
She spoke of an instant of unadulterated emotion
She said she knew instantly
She didn't need to sleep on it
When I asked my dad when he knew he fell in love
He just smiled back at me
He must have known instantly
He didn't even speak on it
So when I ask myself when I might fall in love
I can't help but smile
Think of fairytale titles
Mile wide love notes in all shapes and styles
And a moment where my reality sets my hopes on fire
And I won't need to dream about it anymore

Feb 2014 Nicole H

body parts

Feb 2014 Nicole H

marina

body parts

he tells me he is reaching
his breaking point
(and) he sighs,
(and) he looks away,
(and) i want to reach out to him
to touch his hand, shoulder,
knee

but i am afraid he will
shatter

Dec 2013 Nicole H

Ice Cream Clouds

Dec 2013 Nicole H

Frieda P

Ice Cream Clouds

you nuzzled your head

unto the shoulder of my soul

tears streamed into my heart

steamy moments of resolution

lingering breaths of quivering whispers

stolen moments of life's endurance

wafting through athanasia's elusion'd moondust

dreams of uninvited icy cloudbursts

plunging wing'd poetry into posterity

remembering future's sacred pinings

like fire gasping under waterfall's torrents

i wished upon a snowflake before it took flight

appease this illusion yet one more night

Dec 2013 Nicole H

My Vocation

Dec 2013 Nicole H

Toru Dutt

My Vocation

A waif on this earth,
Sick, ugly and small,
Contemned from my birth
And rejected by all,
From my lips broke a cry,
Such as anguish may wring,
Sing, — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.

By Wealth's coach besmeared
With dirt in a shower,
Insulted and jeered
By the minions of power,
Where — oh where shall I fly?
Who comfort will bring?
Sing, — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.

Life struck me with fright —
Full of chances and pain,
So I hugged with delight
The drudge's hard chain;
One must eat, — yet I die,
Like a bird with clipped wing,
Sing — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.

Love cheered for a while
My morn with his ray,
But like a ripple or smile
My youth passed away.
Now near Beauty I sigh,
But fled is the spring!
Sing — said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.

All men have a task,
And to sing is my lot —
No meed from men I ask
But one kindly thought.
My vocation is high —
'Mid the glasses that ring,
Still — still comes that reply,
Chant poor little thing.

Dec 2013 Nicole H

The Garden

Dec 2013 Nicole H

Sara Teasdale

The Garden

My heart is a garden tired with autumn,
Heaped with bending asters and dahlias heavy and dark,
In the hazy sunshine, the garden remembers April,
The drench of rains and a snow-drop quick and clear as a spark;

Daffodils blowing in the cold wind of morning,
And golden tulips, goblets holding the rain —
The garden will be hushed with snow, forgotten soon, forgotten —
After the stillness, will spring come again?

Dec 2013 Nicole H

Loneliness

Dec 2013 Nicole H

Tammy M Darby

Loneliness

I perceive no beauty
In the rising of the sun
No peace in caressing sweet breezes
Being only one

The colors of my world
Simply described
Are muted black and gray
Upon my weak frail shoulders
The mantle of loneliness lay

My ears no longer recognize
Lovely odd melodies
Of singing evening birds
Silent
Motionless
I utter not a word

The twisting worn paths I travel
All eventually seem to be the same
There are no longer any blue skies
Only cold dark daggers of rain

This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Dec. 26, 2013

Dec 2013 Nicole H

The Death of a Maneater

Dec 2013 Nicole H

Shannon McGovern

The Death of a Maneater

Her memories are riddled with holes
from maggots gnawing away
at her already decomposing mind.
Rotting away inside her skull
like teeth soaking in sugar water
and Methamphetamine.

She has a basement filled with flutes
overflowing with year old concoctions
made of emotions and the echoes
of the harpy she once was.
They drip down the sides and pool,
coagulating on the floor like puddles
of dried blood.

Tattered and torn négligées and teddies
are strewn about the bedroom, stained
from the days of lulling men to their deaths,
like a siren on the rocks,
and writing the contract of her own demise
by drowning herself with them.

The lipstick is off.
The eyes of Medusa are closed.
There is no web left to spin.

And as her heart passes back into the abyss
it takes what pieces are left of of it,
an eddy of tiny mirror shards
reflecting the faces of those who once
shown into it and have now faded,
remnants, of its once glorious mosaic.